


Tenacity

by SeulementAlors



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Bromance, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt Illya, Hurt Napoleon, Hurt/Comfort, Illya Whump, Illya is gentle, Napoleon Whump, Napoleon was a solider, Whump, drugged Illya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 15:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeulementAlors/pseuds/SeulementAlors
Summary: Napoleon was a sergeant in the army before he was a thief.  Illya gets to experience what that means while drugged and attempting to escape a previously infiltrated compound.





	Tenacity

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, I'm new here. This is the first story I've wrote in a long time. All mistakes are mine.

He awakes with a start. The ground is vibrating, and the air is filled with the acrid smell of cordite. He tries to lift his head, but it weighs too much, and he can’t get his muscles to cooperate; panic starts a slow burn through his body. He knows he’s awake because he feels too awful to still be unconscious, but he can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed. It’s such a peculiar feeling that he moves his eyes around and all he sees is inky blackness. His head is pounding, and he’s consumed by nausea.

He can feel the panic rising. It’s constricting his breathing, making his chest feel tight, when a body suddenly slides next to his.

“Peril?”

He tries to respond, but nothing comes out. No sound, no movement, nothing. He feels fingers slide down his neck to take his pulse.

“Illya?”

Finally, he manages a grunt, but it’s enough that his partner hears it. Solo’s hands slide from his throat to his shoulder, nimbly moving down to his elbow and finding the pockmark.

“Sedative,” Solo says frowning at the little mark in his skin.

“Alright then partner, we need to move. That explosion won’t have distracted them for long.” There’s a smile in his voice.

Suddenly he’s being moved. Solo’s hands move under his arms and pull his upper half over his shoulder, while grabbing one leg. Standing and swinging Illya’s body over both shoulders, Solo does it so smoothly that Illya’s impressed; he is by no means a small man.

Regardless, the jostling has increased the pounding in his head tenfold, and Illya watches the ground move and swirl around them, and his vision is slowly swallowed again by that inky blackness.

 

xXx

 

It’s the noise of gunshots that wakes him up the second time.  Close, and coming in quickly enough that Illya knows that they aren’t far from the compound that they were infiltrating.

So, he hasn’t been out too long, and he feels solace in that information.

Solo’s moving at a fast pace, confidently moving in between trees with Illya’s body hanging heavily from his shoulders. From where he’s placed he can see the ground beneath them moving swiftly and if he focuses he can hear almost no sound from Solo and himself. Behind them he can hear people crashing through the trees and brush with no attempt to silence them selves.

There’s another burst of gun fire, and Solo stumbles.

Illya tries to voice his concern, but his mouth is full of cotton.  Solo stumbles again and Illya’s body is jostled and his fragile hold on consciousness snaps and he tumbles into blackness.

 

xXx

 

The air is different when he wakes up again. Crisper and cooler, which means they’re further into the forest that surrounded the compound.  While it’s not quiet, he can still hear shouting in the distance, there’s a calm around them.  He can hear Solo’s harsh breathing, but even that is being silenced, much like Solo is trying to make himself quieter.

_‘Not the worst spy,’_ Illya concedes. They are moving slower than the last time he was conscious, and Solo’s gait is unsteady. He can feel the man beneath him shaking with effort, but they’re moving at a clipped pace.

Illya moves his head back to see the forest floor and cannot distinguish any footprints to give away their location or escape route. Solo chose the denser part of the forest to travel through, with leaves scattering the earth floor, hiding their path. It also means that it is a slower path to travel, whilst carrying a giant over his shoulders.

Illya’s respect for his partner grows.

The air surrounding them smells like rain and damp earth and Illya tries to move his lead-filled limbs. He manages to twitch his legs against Solo’s shoulder.

“Peril?”

The question is quiet, and yet still harshly loud in the forced quiet.

Illya wants to answer his partner and tries to grab his pants and tug them, but the effort of moving his hand seems so insurmountable that he lowers his head and closes his eyes, without realizing he has.

“Peril?” This time the question comes with a little jostle from Solo and Illya’s body moves with the action.

Their movement has stopped, and he can no longer feel Solo moving forward. He can feel his body being moved and lowered. The movement is too much and Illya feels himself grow heavy, and then he knows no more.

 

xXx

 

His entrance into consciousness happens with a snap this time. His eyes shoot open and his body tenses. He realizes immediately that they are no longer moving, and he is resting on the ground. The forest looks familiar, so they haven’t moved since he was placed here, and Solo wouldn’t have stopped for long, so he has only been unconscious again for a few minutes.

Illya can tell that the sedative is wearing off.

He cannot see Solo from where he was left, but he can hear someone heaving. He tries to move his body to get up and see to his partner, but he cannot move.

Red slowly fills his vision. He is useless; he cannot aid Solo, nor can he see what the issue is.

“Peril?”

Slowly Solo appears in his visual field, moving towards him. For the first time since he was drugged, Illya can see Napoleon’s face, and he is stark white. His lips have no colour and he looks gaunt. He’s moving slowly and favouring one side; right hand hugging his side. Even from where Illya is, he can see his black tactical gear is oddly shiny.  His walk is wrong as well, like Solo is trying not to limp.

“Cowboy?

His voice is raspy and deep, but he’s pleased that he can use it now. A smile lightens Solo’s face, “is it finally wearing off?”

“Slowly.”

Solo’s nodding his head but turning to look in the other direction.

“Our extraction point is about two miles west of here.” Solo looks back at Illya with sharp, clear eyes, and for a moment Illya could see how Solo was successful in the army before turning to a life of thievery.

“The terrain isn’t too bad, but it’s mostly uphill from here,” Solo sounds tired as he continues, “I don’t think they’ve stopped following us though, so we’re just going to keep going,”

He looks back at Illya and smiles. It’s a real smile, one born of familiarity and Solo’s own propensity for disaster, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Concerned for his partner, Illya raises his eyebrow, “alright?”

With a pat to Illya’s shoulder Solo moves close to heave Illya’s body onto his, “steady on Peril, I’m great.”

Solo lifts Illya with less grace this time, and by the time Illya is balanced on his shoulders, Illya can feel how deeply Solo is breathing with the exertion.

“I’m so delighted that they obviously used an elephant tranquilizer on you, or this would be too easy.”

This time when they start up the hillside, Illya manages to stay awake.

 

xXx

 

Illya knows that he can run two miles in just under eleven minutes, less if really motivated. He also knows that Solo would be within that general timeframe, so his concern for his partner grows when it takes Solo almost three quarters of an hour to walk the two miles, even with Illya on his shoulders. His steps have regressed into a stagger that takes Solo off to the side and then returns with a couple of shuffles back again.

Illya can slowly move parts of his body, but it’s at an aggravatingly sluggish pace. He started talking to Solo, when he noticed the struggle, but he stopped responding back.

“Not much further, Cowboy.”

From his position hanging off his partner, Illya can see the crest of the hill, and just beyond that, the extraction point.

A couple more staggering steps landed them on the top of the hill and Illya gave Napoleon’s leg a light tap.

“Well done, Cowboy.”

Suddenly, as if those words sent a signal from his brain down through his nervous system to his muscles, Solo collapsed, hitting the ground hard and silently, bringing Illya down with him.

With a startled cry, Illya rolls off Solo’s shoulders and onto the ground next to him. Looking towards his partner, Illya lifts his heavy hand and grabs Solo’s shoulder.

With a jerky shake, Illya harshly whispers, “Cowboy?”

Nothing.

Solo’s body remained motionless, face turned away eyes closed, and arms splayed above his head where they had fallen.

Lifting his unresponsive body to his knees, Illya crawled to his partner and placed his fingers on Solo’s pulse point and waited.

“Слава Богу.” There was a flutter beneath his fingers and Illya let go of the breath he’d been holding.  

“Okay Cowboy wake up.” Shifting, he grabbed Solo and rolled him over onto his back as smoothly has he was able. “We are still not done yet.” 

Solo’s body rolled easy, but he remained unconscious, face ashen, almost grey, with an already swelling goose egg on his temple from his fall.  

With an expert cursory sweep, Illya flicked open Solo’s tactical jacket where he’d seen the wetness earlier.

“дерьмо.” 

The bullet had left the body, as evident by the exit wound, but with a quick feel, Illya could count at least three broken ribs, but couldn’t find anything else. 

“Come on Cowboy,” reaching over, Illya put pressure on the one wound and padded the other with his own jacket.

With the presence of the pressure on his wounds, Napoleon’s face wrinkled, eyebrows drawing close together and rolled his head as if trying to escape the pain.  

“Solo, open your eyes.” 

Blue eyes, clouded with pain, opened and looked directly into Illya’s. 

“Peril?” Solo looked around with eyes, and his eyes jumped back to Illya’s, “you moved!” 

“Da.”

“Is…is the……sed….ative….warn off?” Solo could feel the fine tremors running through his body; he felt cold.  Peril’s body against his felt warm and comforting. 

“Mostly,” Illya confirmed, not mentioning how difficult it was to move his body, “we need to move to better cover and call for the extraction.”

“Did….already.” 

“You already called for the extraction?” Illya looked at his partner, holding pressure tight to his bleeding body.

“Da, am….good….spy,” Solo whispered with a weak laugh.

With a tight chest, Illya moved his body perpendicular to his partner’s, and huffed “not that good Cowboy.”

Slipping his hands around his partner, Illya prayed that he could control his body as to not hurt his partner.

With a quick apology, Illya lifted Solo as he stood and held him to his chest. The effect was immediate. Solo’s face went from ashen to grey, his eyes fell shut and his body fell limp. His head hung back off Illya’s arm, and Illya quickly rearranged them, and tucked his partner’s head under his chin.

“дерьмо, I am Прости.”

Once his partner was settled, Illya looked down at Solo and gave a gentle shake, “Cowboy, open your eyes.”

With heavy steps, he walked them into the cover of the trees, crossing the flat hilltop along the treeline.

His body felt heavy, but also oddly light, like if he didn’t focus where he was placing his feet they wouldn’t come back down, and just float away.

“Cowboy…Solo, wake up.” 

“Napoleon.” 

In the distance, Illya could hear the helicopter coming. He just needed to get his stupid partner to open his eyes. 

“Napoleon, open your eyes.” 

With what looked like enormous effort Napoleon slowly lifted his eyelids and looked up at his partner.  

“Good, good, keep them open,” Illya said has he tucked them further into the bushes. The presence of the helicopter would give away their location, and if there were anyone following them, it would be a giant beacon.  

“You did not tell me you were shot,” Illya didn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, but panic was making his voice tight with emotion.

“No…..chance.” 

“Idiot American,” with a shameful sigh, Illya whispered, “I am sorry.” 

“Not….yo….fault.” 

Looking down at his partner, Illya lifted his eyebrows in question.  

“Eleph’t…dart.” 

“I am going to leave you here for our friends back there to find.” 

With the lightest chuckle, Solo’s eyes closed, “Gabs….’ere.”

With a less than gentle shake, Illya commanded, “eyes, open.” When they didn’t open, he felt true panic. It was if someone had grabbed his heart and was squeezing it, making his chest tight, like he couldn’t breathe.  

“Cowboy. Open eyes, now,” accent thick, Illya lifted his head and watched as the helicopter lowered itself on the hilltop. 

Watching for others in the treeline, he streaked quickly to the chopper; Waverly’s men helping get him and Solo in. Gaby descended on them with tightly concealed panic. 

He placed his partner on the stretcher provided by the medics and watched as his head lolled without his support and the shallow rise and fall of his chest. He could feel the helicopter take off from the ground and it felt as if his head was going with it; lifting away until his body couldn’t keep up.  

There were white spots in his vision and he shook his head to clear them away, but it made it worse, now there were more. He could hear Gaby’s voice in the background, but he couldn’t figure out what she was saying. He looked at Napoleon again, hoping to see his blue eyes looking back at him, but there was nothing but that grey face, so unlike Napoleon that it was surreal. 

The helicopter turned sharply, and he stumbled with it, and then there were small hands holding him up. Looking down he saw Gaby holding tight to his shirt and looking at him with concern in her eyes. 

He could see her lips moving, as if she was talking, but all he could hear was a loud ringing. He blinked and it made the spots worse.  

He watched as Gaby turned her head and her lips moved some more. The floaty feeling was back, but in his knees now. His whole vision was white now. He wasn’t feeling well. 

There were more hands on him now. He didn’t like being touched, but before he could do anything the whiteness overwhelmed him, and he passed out.

 

xXx

 

Without opening his eyes, Napoleon could tell that there were three people in the hospital room with him. He could hear a newspaper being turned, the whisper of soft fabric shifting in the chair next to his head. He could also hear the silent brooding of his giant Russian comrade. 

Slowly he opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling of the hospital room and took stock of how he was feeling. There was the familiar warm sensation and muted pain that came with pain killers. Overall, he was tired, and cold, which he figured was the blood loss.  

“Well, it is excellent that you are finally awake and able to join us Agent Solo.” 

“Solo, you’re awake!” He could hear Gaby’s dress rustle as she stood and walked to his bedside.  

Voice, scratchy with disuse, he said, “yes, glad to be out of that forest.” 

Illya stood and grabbed a glass of water and returned to Solo’s bedside and handed it to him silently.  

“Thank you Peril.” 

With flourish Waverly stood and folded his newspaper and excused himself, “well, now that you’re awake and well, I’ll be off. I’ll get a hold of you three once you’re up and running Solo.” 

As the door clicked shut from Waverly’s exit, Gaby sat on the edge of the hospital bed.  

“You scared us Napoleon,” her eyes hardened, “don’t do that again, arschloch.

“A gentle smile crossed his face, “sorry.” 

“Three broken ribs, blood loss and a dislocated knee that had been relocated in the field,” came Illya’s grumbled baritone. He didn’t sound mad, which surprised Napoleon, but he didn’t sound happy either; almost impressed. Napoleon looked over and watched his partner, as he settled back in the chair beside Napoleon’s bed, body loose now that his partner was awake.   

“Would have been a good soldier, Cowboy.”

Eyes widened, as he took in Illya’s soft expression, “thank you Peril.” 

Glacial blue eyes bore into his with an intensity that only Illya could produce, “and a good partner.” 

Illya had said it with such finality that Napoleon was almost at a loss for what to say.  

Illya lifted one of his long legs to cross it over the other and glanced back at his partner, who was obviously floundering for something to say in response to his admission, “but good spy would not have gotten shot.”

 


End file.
